


the red ones help me fly (and the blue ones help me fall)

by sourcheeks



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, Gen, you can fit so much projection in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourcheeks/pseuds/sourcheeks
Summary: Matt knew he wasn’t a junkie. How could he be? His substance use wasn’t hurting himself or anyone else. He didn’t have a problem, so he didn’t see any reason to make a big deal out of it.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	the red ones help me fly (and the blue ones help me fall)

Matt dug the pills out of his bathroom counter, tipping some into his palm - four ibuprofen, two acetaminophen, two oxycodone - and downed all eight at once with a shot of whiskey and a grimace. He ran himself a hot bath and settled in with his bottle in an attempt to ease some of the stiffness in his joints and the soreness in his muscles. 

In college, Matt had hated how the dorms constantly smelled like weed. To be fair, most of his classmates were making an attempt to mask it, but to Matt’s sensitive nose the earthy smell of pot combined with the chemically sweet smell of air freshener just made him nauseous. But he’d grown to like the smell, or at least tolerate it. The burn of the smoke in his lungs and the heady scent were a small price to pay for how it helped him ignore the pain. 

People had always assumed Foggy was the stoner out of the two of them. Foggy claimed it was because he looked the part, and Matt believed him. Foggy with his long hair and scraggly beard, next to Matt, who people sometimes joked looked like he was already practicing law. And Foggy was far from straightedge, he drank just as much as any other college guy. But really, Foggy had shared a joint with Matt and some girls they were trying to impress, and he hadn’t liked it. Matt, however, was finally starting to get the hype. 

The weed made Matt feel nice and cozy in his own head, deadened his senses enough to keep him from getting overwhelmed but not enough to stop him seeing. He started buying gummies and would sneak them in class when things got to be too much. He’d worried about it damaging his grades, but once Matt was finally able to hear his professor over the two girls arguing down the hall, his grades only improved. 

Maybe that meant that it wasn’t so bad, right? Matt’s entire life, drugs had been presented as a boogeyman, something that would ruin his life. But the weed was making it better. 

The painkillers had started when he started hooking up with Elektra. Both sparring and sex left him bruised and sore, and while Matt always had fun while they were together, the aftermath could be a very harsh comedown. So he stocked up on over the counter painkillers and told Foggy he was developing some really wicked headaches.

When over the counter stopped cutting it, Matt asked Elektra for advice and he told him where to find her dealer. Matt was far from flush with cash and he was way too proud to ask his girlfriend for drug money, but twenty bucks got him ten oxycodone and at first that was enough to last him a while. 

Matt knew he wasn’t a junkie. How could he be? His substance use wasn’t hurting himself or anyone else. He didn’t have a problem, so he didn’t see any reason to make a big deal out of it. 

Then Foggy had told Karen that Matt’s injuries were because of an alcohol problem. Matt had praised him for such a plausible cover story, and Foggy had just shrugged. 

“Hey, a lie of omission isn’t as bad as a straight up lie, right?”

A lie of omission? Did Foggy think Matt had an alcohol problem? 

“I don’t have an alcohol problem,” Matt said out loud to his empty apartment, taking another slug of whiskey. 

“I don’t!” he repeated to the accusatory silence. 

Whatever. Matt finished his joint, drained the tub and took the bottle to bed. He’d more or less stopped having hangovers after a while, so he wasn’t too worried about that. 

Matt shifted in his bed, fingers curled around the glass neck of the whiskey bottle. 

“I don’t have an alcohol problem,” Matt repeated bitterly, taking another drink before settling back to sleep. 


End file.
